Demons to Face Part One: Appearances
by katbybee
Summary: As Starsky likes to say, "What If" What if Hutch is not at all who he appears to be? What if the boys met as teenagers? This is Part One of a Trilogy called "Demons to Face" and was the only part to be originally published on Two Chickies, under my old pen name. Parts Two and Three are finished and will be up ASAP. Please R/R Don't own, no cash-just for fun as per.
_September 9, 1962_

 _Trenton, New Jersey_

The three young toughs swaggered across the diner parking lot after parking their cherry red Lincoln. They were all very expensively dressed and carried themselves with an air of arrogance and power. They were, in fact, known in the neighborhood as the "young Dons." The older two were brothers were bothers who were 18 and 17 respectively, and the youngest was their first cousin this young man, despite his youth, was being groomed to become one of the most powerful mob figures in the city. His father was the number one figure on the local police force's collective mind; and had been for years. The man was also untouchable; much to law enforcement's frustration.

In the parking lot, a hapless young man accidently bumped into the youngest of the three hoods, spilling his chocolate coke all over the hood's chinos. The oldest cousin took immediate offense; and even as the young man tried desperately to apologize; handled the situation in the way he had been taught. He twisted the boy's arm behind his back until it snapped, dropped him to the ground, and put a gun to his head. There was no mercy in his cold blue eyes as he stared at his helpless victim.

What made him stop his cousin, the youngest boy never knew. Things like this had never bothered him before. God knew he'd been involved in stuff like plenty of times. But this time, he found himself placing his hand carefully on his cousin's arm, to stop him from hurting the kid any further.

Surprised, his cousin turned mocking eyes on him. "What'sa matter, Joey-boy? you goin' soft on us?"

Joey scowled. He hated that patronizing tone and the nickname out of his cousin. It made him angry, and he found himself taking it out on the boy on the boy on the ground. He kicked the kid in the ribs in frustration and stalked away. The moment he lashed out, he felt really rotten. That had never happened before either, and he wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

As he headed for their usual table outside the diner, for the first time, the fear and revulsion on the other patrons' faces really registered with him. It was then that Joey Iverson, aged 15, decided he wanted out. Permanently.

 _December 12, 1962_

 _Los Angeles, California_

It was wet, but at least not so cold as New Jersey. Of course, _no_ place was as cold as New Jersey as far as Joey was concerned. Getting to California had not been as difficult as he'd thought it would be. Getting away from Trenton had been the hairy part. He had put together what money he could without alerting anyone, and headed out in the middle of the night.

Fortunately, his size—just over six feet tall and about 160 pounds—worked for him, as had the fake i.d. he'd had Skinny Charlie make for him in a hurry. He knew he could trust Charlie not to talk. Charlie couldn't afford to talk—it was deadly in his business. Unfortunately, because Joey had known he had to get the hell out of Dodge in a hurry, the plane ticket to California had taken most of his ready cash, and the last couple of months had pretty months had pretty much drained the rest. Now he had to figure out to do what to do what to do next. Well, maybe he could get a job someplace. Sighing, he studied the i.d. once again. It was flawless, as all of Charlie's work always was. He just wished Skinny Charlie hadn't picked out such a dorky name for him. He hadn't even bothered with a middle name, for Pete's sake! Who wanted to go through life known as "Kenneth Hutchinson"?!

He sighed again and headed towards the warehouse on at the docks he was now calling home. It wasn't the greatest place in the world, but he couldn't afford to be too picky. He knew there was still an excellent possibility of the mob—hell—of his father—sending somebody after him. His father was never going to forgive him, never mind let him go. Not until the old man died, and one of his cousins took over the family. And somehow, Joey, aka, Kenneth, knew, that would not be for many years. With a snort of frustration, Ken ran his hand through his blond hair in frustration, his bright blue eyes troubled. He hadn't asked for this life. Why couldn't his father understand? He just wanted to get on with his life…

 _January 15, 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

Ken quickly found a job working as a runner for a local numbers racket. His size also made him valuable for other jobs, but he balked at hurting people. He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime. So far, his boss hadn't pushed the point. Anyway, the money was decent, and he was looking forward to just getting back to the warehouse pad he had found and relaxing for a while.

He had gotten run out of the Los Angeles warehouse at the docks by the police, and decided that he would be better off living in the district he worked in. He stopped at a local liquor store and bought a pack of Marlboros and a six-pack of Bud.

As he cut across the vacant lot near the back of his place, he spotted two young men beating the hell out of another guy in the middle of the parking lot. He knew he should stay out of it, but after that night in Jersey, he couldn't. It just rubbed him the wrong way to see somebody getting nailed like that. He put down the beer and ran across he lot, stretching out those long legs of his and reaching the scene in seconds. His beautiful flying tackle rolled one of the men away from the guy on the ground, who seemed to be unconscious.

The fight that followed was fairly short and intense, with Ken having the advantage of both size and experience. The two men he was up against seemed to be gang members who were used to pack-style fighting, and not so good individual. Anyway, the two young men split after just a few punches. Ken turned his attention to the skinny dude on the ground. He was just starting to come around.

Ken noted with shock that the guy looking groggily up at him was a _lot_ younger than he'd thought. He was probably around his own age, just smaller—probably 5'6" and maybe 120 lbs. The kid gingerly shook his mop of curly dark hair, grinned sheepishly, and stood up. Bruises, both old and new, covered his face, but even that did not seem to dim the glint in his indigo blue eyes. Ken's first impression was that this one very tough kid. The odds had simply been against him this time. The kid regarded him through his one good eye carefully. A lopsided grin lit up his face, and he stuck out his hand enthusiastically. "Thanks, man! I was startin' to worry there, for a minute."

Surprised, Ken shook the kid's hand. "No problem. You looked like you could use a hand."

"Yeah," the kid smiled ruefully. "I'm Dave. Dave Starsky. A bunch of those creeps run together and want me to run with them. I keep tryin' to tell 'em I'm not interested, but, so far, they're not listenin' too good."

Ken nodded. "Right. Well, I'm Ken Hutchinson. Maybe I'll see you around." He started to leave, but stopped at the look on Starsky's face. Not sure why it mattered, he asked, "What's wrong?

Ken realized the other boy was still shaken up; probably more than a little afraid, and definitely ashamed to admit it. He surprised himself by offering, "I'll watch your back if you want. Make sure none of those clowns are still hanging around."

Starsky smiled gratefully and shocked Ken by saying, as he ran off across the field, "Thanks a lot, Hutch!"

Ken watched him go, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into, playing bodyguard for a shrimp like that. And that bit about "Hutch?" Well, it was as good a name as any. Besides, it wasn't like it was a lifetime commitment or anything…

Half an hour later, Hutch lay on a battered mates in the warehouse, smoking an thinking back over the day's events—especially meeting that kid—Starsky. He wasn't even aware that Starsky had had such an impact on him that he already thought of himself as "Hutch," already a part of something much bigger than himself…something for which he had no words to describe.

It was quite a feeling for a lonely kid like himself. He chuckled sarcastically at the thought and downed another swallow of beer. He should know better. It didn't pay to get close to anyone.

He surveyed his shabby surroundings. He had carved out a place for himself in an old factory warehouse. Most of the windows were broken out and glass covered the cluttered and dusty concrete floors. He had to watch were he walked, but as a burglar alarm, the glass and debris worked great. Another advantage was the overhead pipes on which he both worked out and had used to "disappear" on more than one occasion.

His few possessions were stored in an orange crate up against the wall, and the beer he had bought lay in a blue cooler next to the orange crate. A couple of grey army blankets covered the mattress, and a lumpy pillow lay forlornly at its head. Hutch smiled grimly at the reason for the lumps—he had a delivery to make tonight; the money-$18,000. and his .45 were under the pillow.

Hutch closed to get some sleep before he had to leave for the drop at midnight. As was his habit, he checked the .45 just before he drifted off. Carelessness in his line of work could get him killed.

It could have been moments, or hours later when Hutch's eyes flew open. _Someone was inside the warehouse_. He sprang to his feet like a cat; gun in hand, his sharp eyes searching the darkness He crouched to retrieve the envelope of money automatically, stuffing it inside his jacket.

He heard a slight movement behind him, and whirled; bringing the gun the gun to bear on the intruder. He stopped short only when he realized who the intruder was. "Starsky, dammit! What the hell do you think you're doing?! You almost got your head blown off!"

"Yeah, I noticed," the other boy responded calmly. He flashed a lopsided in, seemingly undisturbed by Hutch's actions. "I came down to see if you were hungry. I brought a pizza."

"You did WHAT?"

"Pizza—you know—food."

Hutch shook his head with a smile. He realized his first impression of this kid had been right.—he was tough, and maybe just a little bit crazy…

An hour later, the pizza was demolished, and Starsky had left for home, leaving Hutch free to head for the drop point across town. What Hutch didn't yet know was that Starsky's curiosity was as intense as the blue of his eyes. He'd already realized the trouble his new friend was in. After all, greeting people with a .45 and living in a warehouse were not exactly normal everyday circumstances, were they? And if there was anything Little Davey Starsky understood…it was abnormal circumstances.

 _January 16, 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

Hutch left the warehouse just after midnight, with the money now hidden under his shirt and the gun tucked into the back waistband of his jeans. The drop went off without a hitch, and Hutch made his way back towards the warehouse with his $400. pay in his pocket. A movement off to the side caught his eye, and he realized he was being followed. Another quick glance told him who it was, and he decided he had to do something immediately, before the kid got himself killed.

Starsky, although he tried had, was having trouble keeping track of Hutch. Suddenly, he disappeared into an old storefront complex and Starsky stopped, momentarily confused.

Hutch chose that moment to tackle him from behind and pin him to the ground. Starsky fought wildly, but Hutch used his weight and pinned him easily.

"Starsk, what do you think you're doing now?" he grunted, forcing the smaller boy to stop struggling.

Starsky relaxed when he realized who it was that had tackled and yelped, "Let me up, dammit!"

Reluctantly, Hutch let him up, and told him, "Look, you've got to stop this. You're gonna get in way over your head, and you could really get hurt."

Indignantly, Starsky lifted his chin. "Me?! What about you? I'm not the one runnin' around playin' 'gofer with a gun at midnight,' here! You're the one oughta be worried, buddy-boy!"

Hutch sighed and rolled his eyes. He should have known this wasn't going to be easy.

 _July 21. 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

The city lay under a blanket of sweltering, sticky misery. Fans were set up all over the Metro Division's Ninth Precinct Station in a vain attempt to cool things down. The slender, grey-haired man behind the desk regarded his two detectives for a long moment.

"So, just how _do_ you propose getting to Antonelli? You want to lean on some of the kids he's got working for him? They might be able to give us something. I've been itching to get my hands on that scumbag for a long time now."

"No more than we have, Cap'n," said the stouter of the two sergeants seated in front of the desk, his dark skin glistening with sweat, his partner, also Negro, but taller, and slender, nodded his agreement. The captain thought for a moment and finally said, "Why don't you pick of Antonelli's boys and shake them up some—see what turns loose. I'm getting sick of finding dead kids in alleys—kicked aside when Antonelli's through with them."

As the two turned to leave, their captain cautioned them, "Oh, by the way, I want you two to play this thing by the book—you hear me? I want this guy nailed!"

Dobey and Jackson grinned and nodded as they headed for the door, fully intending to make their escape before Captain Mason built up too big a head of steam, as he tended to do, when a case like this got the family man wound up.

August 22, 1963

Bay City, California

Hutch once again lay on the be-up mattress in the warehouse. This time, however, he was in far different condition than he had been seven months previously. His employers had in short order gotten him hooked on various drugs by putting them in the drinks they gave him. Eventually, they began paying him in drugs, rather than cash, which suited the young man just fine. He was so far gone he no longer cared. They barely gave him enough money to buy food, but it no longer mattered to Hutch at all.

No one back in New Jersey would've ever recognized him now. He had lost about 25 pounds. His clothes were sweat-stained and ragged. His light blond hair, once neatly trimmed, now hung well past his shoulder blades, and was matted and filthy. A variety of cuts and bruises covered his face and body.

He had not eaten for a couple of days…the high he had been on had on had kept him from realizing he even needed to eat anything _. Probably not a bad thing, since he was broke again_. He looked down when he felt a burning sensation on his wrist. Damn, he'd just burned another hole in his favorite shirt! He clumsily stubbed out his cigarette, and thought about Starsky, the one who'd given him the blue flannel shirt. He hadn't seen Starsky in a long time. Dave had gone to visit his mother back east for the summer. Damn, he was hungry! Welp, he knew a good cure for that. He checked his stash and grinned. _Bye-bye folks!_

 _Hutch wasn't hungry anymore…he wasn't really anything anymore. In fact he was totally spaced out and hallucinating wildly. Colors spoke to him, walls melted around him and the sounds had smells he'd never felt before. It was all overwhelming, but somehow, incredibly beautiful. It made him ache with the beauty of how free he felt. He was sure his brain was flying free from his body, and he never wanted to come back. There were lakes full of complete logic and the beautiful forest creatures surrounding him made complete sense, as they silently rounded up the hunters and chased them away. Suddenly, the animals morphed into Antonelli's laughing and leering goons. All the colors rushed together, the music turning taunting and threatening. His world grew dark and very cold as the effects of the drugs wore off._

After a couple more hours of lying motionless on the mattress, Hutch felt steady enough to move. He got to his feet, and checked his pockets. As he suspected, he found only a couple of dollars and a little change. He grabbed his grabbed his jacket and left the warehouse. He hated to do it, but maybe Mr. Antonelli would give him another job. He snagged an apple from the corner grocery, and tossed a quarter to the lady who ran it. He never saw the worried look she shot him as he disappeared from sight. He was one of the few in the neighborhood who had never given her trouble, and it broke her heart to see him in such a condition now. She shook her head sadly as she went back to her sweeping.

Hutch approached his boss, who was only too happy to provide him with what he needed…for a price. For his part, Hutch was surprised. The boss had also given him a small cash advance, telling him to eat something, so he wouldn't keel over during the job. All he had to do was go and pick up a package from one of the bosses' associates. Piece of cake. He would be given the rest of his "fee" after he returned with the package. Gratefully, Hutch stumbled out the door, pocketing the $20. bill immediately. His once customary cat-like grace and razor-sharp reflexes had long deserted him. In the office Hutch had just left, the boss spoke in low tones. "That boy is becoming a liability. What a shame…and I had _such_ high hopes!" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he chuckled mirthlessly; then spoke to the silent man standing in the corner. "Vinnie, get a couple of your boys and take care of him. He's worthless to me now."

Vinnie nodded, smiling. He had never liked the big blond kid, anyway. "My pleasure, Mr. Antonelli." He left the luxurious office, relishing the task before him.

 _August 24, 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

Starsky was glad to get back to his aunt's house. He loved his mother very much, but sometimes his ma's fussing over him really got to him. The years following his father's murder when he was nine had not been easy on either one of them. Being the son of a cop was in his blood, even if a mobster had had to pay for the funeral… * His dad's set-up and murder had never been solved, and the department he gave his life for had never even tried. This was something Deborah Starsky would never forgive, or forget. The separation from her when she sent him to California to live with her sister several years ago had not been easy either. She had feared for his safety in New York, with the gangs and all. What she didn't get; what he swore never to tell her, was that things were nearly as bad here…

For some reason, Hutch had been on his mind for the last couple of days. He hadn't looked too good the last time he'd seen him, before he'd left for New York. He decided he'd go look him up at the warehouse later. Right now, he had to go endure his aunt's welcome home fussing over him; which could get almost as bad as his mother's. He grinned, though. At least he knew he had people who loved him…

 _Meanwhile…_

Hutch had no idea what time it was, or what day it was, for that matter; when he first woke up. He found himself in a filthy alley, with his back and head pressed awkwardly into the side of a dumpster. There was not a place on his body that was not screaming in agony. He groaned as memories of the torturous beating he had suffered the night before came rushing back at him.

He'd been on his way to deliver the package when Vinnie and two of his goons jumped him. Though he'd tried to fight, he'd had no chance. The goons were good at what they did, and they intended to make it hurt and make it last. Dimly, Hutch remembered feeling a stabbing pain in his leg; hearing Vinnie's cruel laugh; hearing sirens in the distance and running feet as he faded out. Somebody must've called the cops, but nobody came to investigate…happened all the time…

Eventually, by sticking to back alleys, Hutch made it back home. He made it to the top of the stairwell, but had no strength left. He was dizzy and higher than he had ever been. He knew Vinnie had given him something, but what? The mattress would've felt good to his broken body, but there was just no way. He collapsed right where he was, rolled painfully onto his side and retched; before falling into a fitful sleep. Nightmares plagued him; he was scared, and he knew for sure, he was finally running out of time.

 _Several Hours Later_

Starsky made his way into the warehouse, pizza in hand, excited to be visiting his friend again. He dropped the carton; picking up instead a stray length of rebar; when he spotted a trail of blood leading up the stairwell. He felt his own blood run cold as he quickly but quietly made his way upstairs, alert for danger, but finding nothing until he reached his best friend's "lair."

He could smell the stench of vomit, and was shocked at the condition Hutch was in. Dried blood and bruises covered him all over, face and body. Instinctively, Starsky lifted his frail friend's head and shoulders, to hug him to him; to let him know he was not alone. There was no reaction from the blond, and that scared Starsky even more. Tears rolled down the smaller boy's face as he tried to think what to do. "Come on, Blondie! You gotta wake up! The hell you gotten yourself into, man?! I told you before I left to be careful, stupid!" Here his tears became genuine cries of rage and frustration. "Dammit, Hutch! You can't leave me, man! You're the only friend I got!"

A look of irritation crossed Hutch's battered features; one Starsky would come to recognize well in years to come. "Quiet, will'ya!" You're givin' me a headache! "sides, 'm not stupid.

Starsky grinned, sighing in relief. Hutch may be sort of conscious, but Starsky realized by his eyes that his friend was still in a lot of trouble. He could see Hutch was spaced out and badly messed up.

"Depends on your definition of stupid, Blintz. We'll argue about it later. Right now, I gotta go get some help. You may be skinny as hell, but ain't no chance of me gettin' you outta here on my own."

Hutch frowned at him.

"No cops."

"Hutch, I-I can't p-promise that!

"No, Starsky! If the cops find me they'll ask all kinds of questions…they'll check me out…I'll end up in jail. Is that what you want? _Friend?!"_ No way could Starsky miss the sarcastic emphasis on the last word spoken by his best friend as Hutch turned his pain-filled, dilated eyes on him.

And Starsky got mad. Mad as hell. _Because how do you make an impossible choice, when you're only 15 years old and your best friend may be dying? His father's words to him, the last conversation they'd had, came back to him. Little Davey had asked his father, Big Davey, why he went out and did what he did, knowing he could get shot doing it. "Simple, kiddo. We do what we do, 'cause we can't do nothin' else."_ And those were the words Little Davey Starsky lived by. And come hell, high water, or the wrath of his best friend, he could do no less, now. He took a deep breath, and repositioned his friend in his arms.

"No, Hutch," I don't want you to go to jail, o' course not. But I'd rather it be that, then you be dead. I couldn't live with that. You're in real bad shape, babe. You gotta let me get help." He looked deeply into the tear-streaked blue eyes, and told him. "Don't worry, man. I'll always be there. Me and Thee…Okay?"

Defeated, Hutch slowly nodded. He closed his eyes, knowing his friend wouldn't move now until he gave the word. He forced his crystal blue eyes to focus on Starsky's face and whispered, "Starsk…help." With those two words, Hutch lost his tenuous hold on consciousness. Starsky carried him to the mattress, laid him down gently, and covered him up. Only then did Starsky hit the stairs three at a time. He was a man on a mission.

Starsky raced down the stairs of the warehouse and outside, unaware of the fact that since Hutch's wounds had begun to bleed again, he was covered in blood, and was a frightening sight himself. He ran to the corner grocery, where the owner's wife called for help for him, not realizing he wasn't the one hurt. She asked for the police as well, for Starsky knew full well Hutch's activities were what had caused the beating. Just as he heard the ambulance coming, a plainclothes car arrived, and Detectives Dobey and Jackson were up the warehouse stairs in minutes.

 _August 30, 1963_

 _Bay City, California_

Hutch hated hospitals with a passion. Been in too many of them as a little kid. He was so happy to be getting out; he could almost forget that he was going home with a cop instead of back to his warehouse on his own. But going home with Dobey beat the hell out of jail time, and at least, he liked Dobey's wife; a pretty, soft-spoken woman named Edith. There had been a lot of stupid red-tape because the Dobey's weren't white, but in the end, the fact that Dobey was a respected cop, and they were willing to jump through some extra hoops for him, seemed to do the trick. Personally, he thought the whole race thing was just stupid. No matter what color anybody was on the outside, if anybody got shot or cut or whatever, people—ALL people still bled the same color! And everybody's brains were the same color! So why the hell couldn't that be enough? But it wasn't, and maybe it never would be. He shook off the depressing thoughts. He had enough to worry about.

Although he had been arrested, he had agreed to testify, in exchange for a plea bargain deal. He was placed on probation with the Dobey's. Due to the fact he had turned 16 just two days prior to his release from the hospital, if his record remained clean, he would remain in Sgt. Dobey's custody until he turned 18. Hutch's responsibilities were to return to and graduate from high school, stay off drugs and alcohol, and stay out of trouble. He also had to contact his probation officer once a month. Edith Dobey added one more condition to the rules. He had to quit smoking. Period.

 _March 15, 1978_

 _Bay City, California_

Hutch had finally confided in Sgt. Dobey as to his real identity, and Sgt. Dobey had agreed to do everything he could to keep anyone else from knowing about Hutch's past, and to help protect him to the best of his ability. Hutch's oldest cousin had died in a knife fight in 1964. His younger cousin had forcibly taken over the family a few years later. Hutch's father had stepped down, a bitter and broken man. He blamed his son for not being there to take over when it was time, for causing the power to be wrested away from him Hutch had not seen or heard from him since that long ago time in New Jersey, and he hoped like hell he would never see him again.

Hutch had continued to hang around with Starsky for a while, but because the Dobey's had moved to a different neighborhood, they ended up at different high school for their senior years, and they lost track of each other. _Hutch had never told Starsky anything about his true past. He simply made up a story about being from Duluth…the town his mother was from. She used to tell him all about it when he was in the hospital as a little boy; recovering from…_ Here he shook his head impatiently. He refused to go there again!

He went back to thinking about how often his path had crossed Starsky's over the years. They had inadvertently joined the Bay City Police Academy at nearly the same time. They met there, and became inseparable, both sharing top honors. Fate seemed determined to bring the two together, and finally, after spending time separately on the force as uniformed officers, they became partners when Hutch made detective, shortly after Starsky had done the same.

Hutch sat back in the passenger seat o Starsky's god-awful Striped Tomato, and closed his eyes; remembering their first encounter all those years ago. He remembered the vow he had made to himself to always keep his partner safe no matter what. To wrestle with whatever forces he had to; be it death, or disease, or the streets. He would do anything necessary in order to make sure that nothing and no one hurt his friend, or took him away from him. Time and time again, that vow had been tested.

It seemed that Starsky was destined to taunt and cheat death over and over, with Hutch right there at his side. Hutch knew that Starsky had made the same vow and battled the same demons on his behalf. Starsky was not only the brother he had never had, but was so much more. They had been through so much good and bad, and still had come shining through. Hutch knew, somehow, they always would.

He found himself thinking about something he'd once read. "No greater love than this—that a man lay down his life for his friend."

Hutch smiled gently…remembering. There were many times Starsky had done just that, and so had he. Neither would hesitate to do it again. ' _Me and Thee'—ever since that day in the middle of an empty field._

"Hey, partner, you okay?" Starsky looked at Hutch quizzically. "You look like you're a million miles away."

"Nope. Just a few miles, and about seventeen years, are all."

Starsky stared in confusion. "Wanna run that one by me again, partner?"

Hutch smiled. "Not really. Just remembering when we were kids"

Starsky grimaced. "Jeez, that was a long time ago! Listen, you wanna get a pizza? I'm starving!"

Hutch laughed. It was true—some things never did change. He glanced over at his best friend, and fervently hoped they never would.

The End


End file.
